Free Trust in Me by Skye Warren

panes. Hell, I really was becoming a dog.
    I was only nervous about other guys touching me. Sure I traded in sex, but I clung to the illusion that I had a choice about my partners. Carlos called me picky, but I didn’t like being forced.
    A lot of the guys leered at me when we passed in the halls and touched me when they had half a chance. They were willing to use me for sex if given the opportunity. Trunk, in particular, seemed to have a thing for me.
    He’d fucked me more than a few times the last time I’d been a puppy. He wasn’t into pain, that much I knew, but he did like anal and he was a big guy. At first he put it in without any lube which was excruciating, but I wasn’t allowed to talk. I couldn’t even beg him for lube. I whimpered and whined—all natural, by the way. At some point the whole animal act really embedded itself in my bones, so communicating by wordless sounds came naturally.
    He got the idea, though, when he was done and his dick was covered in blood. The times after that, and there were many in only a week, he’d used plenty of lube, thank God. But he was still a big guy, and it was going to hurt no matter what.
    He came to me later and apologized. It was weird but also…nice. That was a whore’s version of Hallmark. I’m sorry for reaming your ass .
    Trunk practically panted when he walked into the office and saw me bound and gagged. He knelt down in front of me, working at the bindings. Well, sure, even he’d have a hard time getting his dick in a pretzel. No . I didn’t want this. I never had, but somehow it seemed to matter now. My body seemed worth something, more than a bed and clothes anyway.
    “Shhh.” Thick fingers pinched at my skin, working at the knots. “I got you.”
    Clever Carlos. Every tug of the rope trapped my breasts tighter, cutting off the blood. I already couldn’t feel anything in them which meant there’d be a hell of a lot of pain when I was released. Between my legs, the abrasive rope scrubbed at my inner lips and clit. The point of it all was to punish me if I squirmed, but Trunk was making it worse.
    He pulled a knife from his pocket. Instinctively I shrunk back.
    “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    Thick tears slid down my cheeks, tears of pain and shame and maybe even rage. The way they thought they owned my body was bad enough. Worse was the way I believed it too.
    “Just hold still.”
    The fast-paced click of shoes on concrete was the sound of my white knight. Trunk pushed me back down onto the floor. Spit hit my butt cheek and was smeared into my asshole. I tensed. Was he trying to do it quickly? He would never finish in time, but the start alone would hurt so badly. I wanted to scream like the animal they had made me.
    When the blunt head of his cock pressed against the very, very closed place, I heard Carlos’s voice snap, “Get away from her.”
    “I’m sorry, jefe .” Trunk immediately backed away. “I thought—”
    “I don’t pay you to think. Get out.”
    Trunk acted surprised, and frankly, so was I. Maybe it was just another mind fuck. I was so used to the horror, the humiliation, that it completely threw me to have Carlos act as my defender. Maybe this whole Tyler thing had thrown Carlos as off balance as it had me. It was like he couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted to be Tyler’s mentor in the art of slave training, or fight him for possession. Or both. The same qualities that made Tyler a worthwhile student also made him a threat.
    Just when I felt relief about the whole thing, Tyler stepped into the room. It was the slight falter in his steps, the tightening of his mouth, and the veiling of his eyes. They told me that he hated seeing my like this and that when he told Carlos I looked fuckable, it was a charade.
    As if to dispel any misconceptions that he’d gone soft, Carlos used me extra hard that night. I’d been expecting it, but it still hurt. No matter how much you brace yourself for the pain, it always comes